


Sir

by theblankartist



Category: Glee
Genre: Daddies!Klaine, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, daddy!blaine, daddy!kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 23:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4157079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theblankartist/pseuds/theblankartist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William Henry Anderson had raised his sons to be polite young men. They were trained perform in society, to present the carefully constructed image that he intended to be seen. They were Anderson men. And they had never let him down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sir

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Tumblr.
> 
> Lookie! I finally finished one of my projects! I’m not gonna lie, I was really depressed when Glee ended and it took me a long time to get back into anything. I haven’t touched any of my other projects that I started and this story didn’t seem to have the same energy behind it.
> 
> But I’ve been making effort to get myself involved again with my creative side. I sort of had to force this out, because I don’t feel the same way I did about it, and I’m sure it shows. I had a few wrenches thrown in with Klaine’s wedding too, in terms of background characterization, so there’s that. However, I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

William Henry Anderson stared through the window of his home office at the trembling White Ash and Sycamore trees that lined the edges of the house’s backyard.

He remembered his eldest son once saying that the backyard was more of a forest than anyone’s backyard had a right to be.

William had insisted that this is kind of privileged life a successful man, an Anderson man, lived. He worked hard and provided for his family. His parents had held this wish for him and his brothers, had given their last dimes to give them the opportunity to make more for themselves. He upheld the image of the hardworking American man who had made all his dreams come true, as his father before him had.

At that age, neither of his sons had been very interested in paying attention to his life lessons. He remembered his boys always dreaming up games of imagination and weaving through the maze of foliage when they were young. They’d return for dinner dirtied and out of breath, always thoroughly scolded for ruining their nice clothes without remorse.

He’d been too lenient on them when they were young. William had expected his sons to join him in his business endeavors, to become partner and co-owners and eventually take over when he decided to retire, to pass the legacy of Anderson and Sons Insurance on to their own sons, so to create a legacy of their family that would forever be ingrained in the memory of Ohio.

Instead the oldest one had run off to LA to become an actor and the youngest had disappeared to New York with dreams of being a musician. What a waste.

With a resigned scoff, he pushed away from those reminiscent thoughts and made his way out of his home office, down to the dining room for brunch that the maid, Mrs. Smith, would surely have prepared.

Mrs. Smith acknowledged him politely as he arrived through the doorframe and immediately set his coffee down before him. Within a few more moments, he had a steaming plate of freshly-made breakfast. He set upon eating as he read the morning paper. Annabel had plans to meet with the women from her tennis club and then to the country club’s spa afterwards and therefore would not be joining them until dinner.

William mentally checked his daily tasks. There was little work to be done that day, just a few documents that needed to be checked for quality, a few phone calls he needed to make to his regional managers to ensure that the quarter’s anticipated profits would be met. If his chief financial officer deemed it wise, maybe he’d make that donation to the children’s hospital. It would be a good tax break.

There would be time for that after a short break. His wife was always telling him he worked much too hard. It would be a good opportunity to get out.

“Mrs. Smith, have Trevor pull the car to the front. I’ll be taking a short trip after breakfast is finished.”

“Yes, Sir.” Mrs. Smith poured him another cup of coffee and removed herself from the dining room.

—

The bench was cold and uncomfortable, and his decision to visit the park on this blistery day grew increasingly discouraging with each howl of the wind through the barren trees. The sky writhed with dark clouds.

Children hooted and hollered and ran around the play structure. A couple of little boys were chasing a ball; occasionally they would trip over one another and get into a tussle. A half-attentive guardian would always come over and break up the argument. The boys continued playing, unaffected.

Parents returned to the benches, snuggling younger children too young to be left alone, clutching snack bags, discussing the troubles of potty training, and ranting about childcare prices.

The few times William took his boys to the park were not nearly as calm. He could remember Cooper picking on his little brother, pushing him around, teasing him, and taunting him with his friends when they would join them. The few times he’d tried to throw the ball with Cooper, he had complained that it was too hot and he was sweating too much.

His youngest son always eager to please Daddy, had been wonderful once he’d been able to build up his arm strength.

However, Blaine was a crybaby. If Cooper hit him or accidentally knocked into him, the child would burst into tears and Cooper, ten years his brother’s senior, would tease him and make the situation worse. It didn’t matter how often William would try to correct the boy and his inappropriate behavior, up until he was ten years old, he had cried. Young boys would become men and should act like it.

Pam, his children’s mother, had coddled the boys, further contributing to the issue. She’d always maintained the idea that they’d grow into men when the time was right and that William shouldn’t push them too hard.

_“They’re just boys, William. Let them be children. They’ll have enough to suffer when they reach adulthood. Let them be young for now.”_

His firm attempts to reign in Blaine’s behavior and steel him for the real world had been all for naught once Blaine entered middle school and discovered musicals. He had shown a preference for singing in his room, which would spread to the foyer, the dining room, the library, jumping upon the furniture despite the constant admonitions from Mrs. Smith.

He was passionate about performing, and William was proud about his immature tenor, but had a greater amount of hesitance and distaste for his choices in expression.

Maybe another parent would have approved of his child landing the lead role in Oliver Twist, but William refused to accept that his son would be singing and dancing and performing other frivolous activities in makeup and costumes. Back in his day, men didn’t participate in those sort of proceedings unless they were pansies. Sissies. And his son was certainly not one of those.

He could clearly remember the first fight in which Blaine had displayed a concerning amount of anger, had dared to raise his voice at his own father, to fight for something so completely useless. It was a stupid argument, one that Blaine had lost quite swiftly.

William had informed his firmly that, under no circumstances, was a son of his going to waste his precious time in school, time he could be using for thing that actually mattered to men like sports, to act like a sissy and perform show tunes.

Blaine had furrowed his brows in frustration and responded that his father had never supported him in his endeavors, had never bothered to think about what he would like to do with his life.

His father, who had put him through school and tolerated those choir lessons and small class plays because he’d assumed they’d get the urge out of his veins. His father, who hadn’t put an immediate end to all things that would never benefit his life as an Anderson man.

It wasn’t difficult to make threats, it came easy to William as the CEO of his own company, and he understood that sometimes consequences had to be put forth to get the desired actions to be performed.

Watching the light leave his son’s eyes had been difficult, but he was a parent and knew what was best for his son.

Blaine’s inflectionless “Yes, Sir” would satisfy the situation and seal the conversation forever with an air of unresolved conflict that William would refuse to address.

The children playing their soccer game had steadily made their way closer to him. Their cries of frustration had brought him from his memories. The soccer ball flew with little control and little direction. Trailing behind it, a small waif of a boy was running as fast as his little legs could carry him, right to the bushes next to William’s seat.

The small soccer ball rolled swiftly into the foliage, crunching through just enough branches to be stuck in the middle.

The brunet child stumbled onto the concrete and over to the bush, impatient calls of his company hot on his heels.

He danced from one foot to the other, trying to figure out how to climb in with as few obstacles as possible. His grass-stained knees and dirty elbows collapsed onto the concrete sidewalk and he made a valiant attempt to crawl into the underbrush, pitiful grunts of effort squeezing out.

“Here, son, let me give you a hand.” William offered, rising from his cold seat and bending easily over the shrubbery to grab the ball.

The child hopped back to his feet and swiftly took the ball back. “Thanks, Mister!”

The boy made sure he looked the man in the eyes when he thanked him, just like daddy had taught him. Being polite was important.

William smiled politely, pleasantly surprised that this young boy had been taught his manners and had them ingrained as such a young age.

“Well, see ya!” The child said as he ran back to his friends. William watched as he stopped only a few yards into the grassy patch.

When he looked up, he noticed that the boys who had previously been roughhousing on the grass had abandoned it in favor of the playground, their former playmate all but forgotten.

Bright eyes turned back to the old man and before William could turn away, the request was made. “Excuse me, mister, do you wanna play with me? I don’t think my friends like soccer anymore.”

William smiled ruefully. He wasn’t nearly as spry as he used to be, and any grandkids he might have had to keep him young were not a possibility. “Sure, son.”

He grumbled a little to himself as he made his way onto the field, cold joints protesting his lengthy immobility in this nippy weather.

The young boy laughed as he placed the ball on the ground and wound up for a kick. “You’re funny, mister! You’re not my daddy! My daddy’s watching my sister right now. My name is Matthew! But my daddy calls me Mattie, so you can too!”

“Okay, Mattie. You can call me Mr. Anderson.”

“Okay mister! I mean Mister Anderson!” Mattie put his knees together and bent a little bit to receive the ball William had kicked, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he mimicked how daddy told him to stop it.

“Why are you here by yourself, Mister Anderson?” Mattie sent another ball wide of William’s position, but the gentleman just walked swiftly to get it before returning to send it back.

“Well, my wife is hanging out with here friends today. I came here to relax and think a little bit.”

“What did you think about?”

A lot of William’s thoughts were too difficult for a child to understand. And probably too heavy. “I thought about my boys, my sons.”

“Oh… I think about my sister sometimes. She’s still little. And kinda a crybaby. But daddy says that it’s coz she’s still learning.” Mattie had glanced off in the direction of the playground again when he mentioned his sister. As if suddenly remembering the desertion by his former playmates, Mattie picked up the soccer ball he had received and stared at it instead of kicking it back. “Those boys are meanie heads! They always leave me here and kick the ball all wrong! Sometimes they call me shorty ‘cause I’m not as tall as them. Daddy says one day I’ll be as tall as him! Then they can’t call me it anymore!”

The admonition for the coarse language was on the tip of William’s tongue, but instead he gave another command. “Don’t let them push you around, son.”

Mattie squared his shoulders and nodded, accepting William’s advice. He went back to passing the ball between them.

William thought about how much easier his life would have been, for both himself and his youngest if he’d taken that same suggestion to heart.

_"Anderson’s don’t let others push them around! Especially not lower class Neanderthals who won’t amount to anything in society!_

Singing. Acting. Musicals. Those couldn’t be the end to William’s trials.

Of course he hadn’t been the least bit surprised when those boys had taken a swing at his son. Blaine had turned into a limp-wristed, weak boy who couldn’t be bothered to even hide his sexuality for the sake of his own protection was the perfect target. His involvement with those plays had followed him and surely labeled him inadequate as a true man.

Blaine wouldn’t fight back, couldn’t as such a small boy. And he didn’t even both to speak up for himself.

Back in his day, William might have gone after the same type of fruit if he’d seen one. It just wasn’t something you wanted to have to deal with. They were nonproductive and ill in the head.

Pam hadn’t been pleased when Blaine had ended up in the hospital for numerous injuries and had quarreled with William for not doing more to protect his son, to require those boys who had beaten her youngest boy to pay for their actions.

Blaine had taken a boy to a school dance. What did he expect would happen!

William refused to do more than transfer his worthless son to a private school an hour from their home, where no one would know what a stain Blaine had caused on his family’s public image.

Pam had refused to remain his wife any longer.

—-

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes later when Mattie heard his dad calling him.

“Mattie, c’mon sweetheart, it’s time to get going!”

The small boy looked up at William, hesitance on his face as he reached down to grab the soccer ball at his feet. He looked back in the direction he’d been called, making a move to head over to the voice that had called out to him, but turned back to the older man with a frown.

“Mister Anderson, I gotta go now. But maybe we can play again sometime.” His eyes glimmered with hope of having secured a new friend.

A weary smile stole across William’s face and he reached out a hand to the child. “Sure we can, son.”

Bright, blinding, and painfully infectious, Mattie’s own smile urged the older man to dredge up effort to match it. Mattie sloppily shook William’s hand, eager and impatient.

“M’kay, bye, Mister Anderson! See you next time!” With that, the boy rushed off across the open grounds, right into the legs of a tall gentleman.

William was prepared to follow and scold the boy, apologize to the man whom he’d run into. It was instinct to correct inappropriate actions from a young man. He halted his actions when those small arms snaked themselves around the man’s slender legs and threw that smile up a few feet to the man’s similar one.

“Daddy! Daddy! I maded a new friend! He played with me and helped me get my ball back!” Grabby fingers had lost interest in the ball and found better seize on the tailored pant leg.

“Matthew, be careful when I’m holding your sister.” The brunette man admonished softly, one hand reaching down to run itself through thick golden-brown locks on his son’s head. “Don’t forget your ball, buddy. You remember what happened last time you left it at the park.”

Mattie’s eyes widened and he quickly retrieved it from the few feet away where it had rolled.

William’s attention drew to the little girl in the man’s arms, fast asleep against his shoulder, her white and red dressed dusted with smudges of dirt, evidence of play. Her long, curly black hair resembled nothing of her brother’s, whose own hair was straight but full on his head. He supposed the man’s wife had the same hair as his daughter.

The trio made their way to the edge of the park and the old Mr. Anderson followed after having gathered up his newspaper. He walked paces behind them, being sure not to intrude. Watching the little boy skipping next to his father, witnessing them talk and interact, made his chest ache with a phantom reminder of his children in an uncomplicated time.

“Look, there’s papa!” The tall brunet man exclaimed, pointing his son in the direction of another approaching man.

William’s next step faltered, his face twisting up into a grimace on reflex. Faggots. In his neighborhood. What was the world coming to?

The man was urging his son toward his other father who was walking with purpose toward them.

With fluidity that could only have been established over years of practice, the dark-haired man sunk into a crouch and caught the young child as he launched himself into his arms.

“Oh, what a wonderful hug! Thank you, Mattie!” The man cheered, gathering his son up into his arms and launching him up into the sky. He received the child to his chest and planted a lively kiss on his cheek.

William bent his head down and he continued walking in their direction once they’d begun moving again. His strides had lengthened, hurrying around them in order to escape their air.

His fingers clenched until the knuckles were bone white with frustration. He could hear Mattie’s excitable chatter and his parents’ enthusiastic responses. It made him uncomfortable, to see such a thing. How dare they pretend to be a functional family?

The black sedan pulled up to the curb and William scoffed at his driver’s impeccable timing. Trevor hastily exited the car to open the door in the backseat for him.

Just a few more yards…

“That’s him, daddy! That’s the nice mister who helped me get my ball when it was stucked in the plants!”

From some unknown instinct, William turned to face the small family who had caught up with him. Mattie’s little wave encouraged a small smile from him, but it died instantaneous as he recognized the boy’s parents.

Parent.

Blaine.

The gentleman holding Mattie was none other than his youngest son, Blaine.

William watched his son pause, stock-still but not intimidated. Blaine’s happy expression slipped into blank politeness as he turned to face the older man. There was no flicker of geniality.

“Thank you, sir.”

Mirrored hazel eyes caught his for a moment, unfamiliar and unacquainted, polite as he’d been raised, with the same detachment and proper distance from the situation as had been drilled into his brain. There was not even a trace of a kind smile on his face.

“Of course.” He responded in kind.

William barely kept himself from flinching at his son’s tone.

Blaine turned back to his partner (boyfriend? husband? lover?), shaking his head in dismissal of the other man’s questioning expression, nudging him to continue to make their way across the small parking lot.

Blaine helped his family into the car, buckling in his son as his partner strapped in their daughter, sweeping her curls lovingly aside and pressing a poignant kiss to her forehead. They both got into the car, his son on the driver’s side and the other man in the passenger’s seat. There were words shared, a reassuring smile, and then, from the angle at which he remained frozen, William could see them lean over the center console and share a warm kiss.

This time, he did not feel disgust at the show. He did not feel anger. He did not feel upset.

He did not feel disappointed in his son.

Rather, he felt light. He was weightless.

He had nothing to hold him down.

He was nothing.

He did not hear Trevor’s greeting as he sat himself in the back seat of the car, though he was sure he’d at least acknowledged him.

William watched through the driver-side window as his son’s blue SUV pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, disappearing moments later.

Talented fingers plucked his heartstrings, ripping breath out of his lungs and injecting his veins with regret and self-hatred.

His son had become a successful Anderson man, hadn’t he?

His worthless son, his disappointing son, had become rather wealthy in ways that William clearly was not.

“Where to, Sir?”

William couldn’t contain the flinch into himself this time. That address felt like a razorblade against his skin. A deep struggling sigh raked out of his windpipe as he steadied himself.

“To the house, Trevor.”

“Yes, Sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, so happy to have finally completed this! I have plans for more stories in this ‘verse, most likely a story from Blaine’s point of view coming next.
> 
> Until we meet again, thank you very much for taking the time to read my story! Come check out my [Tumblr](http://agentfishperez.tumblr.com) for my main blog and check out my writing blog for some of my stories I haven't put on here!


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